


Bored

by Emmylou



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Love/Relationship, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:16:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1798549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmylou/pseuds/Emmylou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quiet evening in...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bored

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first piece I've posted. I'd really appreciate feedback and though I have LOTS of ideas for other works, would also be happy to try taking requests. Thanks!

Bored

 

 

We’re seated at opposite ends of the sofa, he facing forward and I turned facing him with my feet up.  It’s a soft autumn night and it’s still warm enough to have the sliding glass door open to the air.

I gaze over the top of my book at Benedict, lit from the side by his reading lamp.  He is completed absorbed in the script in his hands, slowly rubbing his thumb over and over his lower lip.  I yawn, jaw crackingly.  No response.  I sigh.  Without looking at me he says, patiently,

“I told you, I’ll be hours yet.  It’s alright for you to go to bed.”

“Do we have a gun?” I ask.

Now he looks up from his script, startled,

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m not tired,” I explain, “I’m bored.”

He grins, his almond shaped eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“Find something to do.  Preferably something quiet.”   And he goes back to his pages of dialogue.

I know perfectly well that when he’s learning lines, it requires his complete concentration, especially when it’s Sherlock.  Sometimes the deductions go on for pages and until he’s memorized the script and can move on to fine tuning his performance, he needs quiet.  He only received the new pages this afternoon, so he hasn’t reached the point where I can help and run lines with him.

“Cigarette please.”  I say.

He reaches for the pack next to him, shakes one out and passes it to me, all without looking up.  I take the cigarette.

“Lighter?”

He shoots me a look out of the corner of his eye.  I smile.  He puts the script down.

“Stop it.” He says, flicking the lighter and stretching his arm toward me.  I lean in and draw slowly on the filter, then sit back, exhaling.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”  I say.  “May I have the ashtray?”

He passes me the heavy crystal cube then picks up the script again.

“Anything else?” he asks.  “Before I go back to work?”

“Nope,” I answer, “I think I’ve got everything.”

I smoke the cigarette and try to make myself read my book, but I keep stealing glances at him.  Again, stroking his lower lip with his thumb.  Maddening.  His hair is long and curly, died dark for filming Sherlock and though he prefers it short, I love the way the curls sit at the nape of his long neck.  My eyes linger.  I stub out the cigarette and stretch, my toe just touching the denim over his thigh.  I wait.  Then do it again.  I look down at my book, pretending to read.  I can feel him looking at me. 

“Honestly, you’re like a puppy.  Do I need to take you for a run round the block to tire you out?”

“Ssh.  I’m trying to read.” I say, barely succeeding in keeping the grin off my face.  He snorts with laughter.  I don’t look at him.  He goes back to his script. 

This time I manage to wait at least five minutes, but I find myself reading the same three sentences over and over.  I scoot down slightly and press my foot against his leg, stroking the flat of his thigh lightly with the sole of my bare foot.  I put my book on the coffee table.  He’s still reading.  I sit up and turn round, lying back on the sofa with my head on his lap.  I slide my hands under my neck and pull up my long red curls, letting them fall over his legs.  I close my eyes.  It takes less than a minute before I feel his right hand drop and start to stroke my hair.

 “Gotcha.”  I think, smiling to myself.  

I lie still, enjoying the sensation as he repeatedly twists coils of hair around his long fingers, then gently pulls, releasing them.  I feel a twinge of excitement as my scalp prickles and goose pimples rise on my arms.  I roll toward the back of the sofa, raising myself up on one arm and lift my other hand, taking the script from his hand and dropping it to the floor behind me.  He doesn’t resist.  I pull myself up and move over to straddle his lap, then lean in, my hand on his jaw and gently press my lips to his.  Our eyes are open and I can see his pupils dilate as the tip of my tongue sweeps his upper lip, slowly tracing the sharp curve.  I suck his bottom lip between mine and let him feel just the slightest edge of my teeth.  He snakes one hand up my back and into my hair while the other rests on top of my thigh.  I can feel the heat of his palm through the linen of my trouser leg.  I slide my tongue into his mouth, feel it meet his.  We kiss, deeply, our breathing becoming heavier.  I slide my mouth down his jaw to his throat, nipping and sucking gently to his sharp collarbone.  He sighs.  His hands are on my hips now, pulling me closer and I can feel his rising hardness.  I reach down, pulling his thin t-shirt from the waistband of his jeans and run my hands up his ribcage, pulling the shirt up and over his head.  He grabs at my shirt, yanking in his need to feel my skin against his own.  He flings my shirt away and runs his hands up my back, pulling me hard against him.  Our lips meet, frantic, mouths open, tongues darting and stroking.  My bra comes away in his hands and his head lowers, seeking one nipple, sucking hard while his fingers stroke and twist the other.  My head is thrown back, my breath coming ragged and my thighs gripping him. Suddenly he wraps his arms round my waist and stands, lifting me with him.  I lock my legs at his waist and he carries me up the stairs to our bedroom.  He kneels at the edge of the bed, leaning forward, his long body pressing me down into the mattress and he kisses me, hard, his hand behind my head, pulling me into him.  He slides down my body, licking, nibbling and undoes my trousers, dragging my remaining clothing away, his fingernails scratching my thighs.  An involuntary groan leaves my throat as his mouth slips across my belly.  He’s between my legs, pushing them apart as he moves lower.  Tiny butterfly kisses skip across my thigh and he slides his thumb down between my pussy lips, sliding the flat of it across my clitoris.  I gasp, my hands curling in the bedspread as his mouth moves to take over from his thumb.

“Ben…”, my voice breathy.  Needy.

 

He slips his long middle finger into me and I buck in response, my hips straining to meet him.  Slowly, he fucks his finger in and out, his teeth and tongue working my clit and I can feel that he’s looking at me.  I rise up onto my elbows and meet his eyes.  A second finger slides inside me and he smiles at my response.  Looking up at me he rumbles,

 

“I love that you don’t hold back.  I never have to guess what gets you excited.”

“You get me excited.  Come up here, I want to suck your cock.”

 

He moves up to join me on the bed and kissing him I can taste myself on his mouth.  I push him onto his back and make my way down his body, my hair slipping and tickling over his flat stomach. I undo his jeans, slipping my fingers into the waistband and sliding them down his long legs. I stop my lips only a centimetre from his hard penis.  I circle my fingers just under the head and squeeze, knowing he can feel my breath on his sensitive skin.   I run my tongue over the opening, tasting a salty drop of pre-cum and begin to move my hand down the shaft.  I grip him firmly, remembering him telling me after the first time I did this to him that he loved that I used enough pressure when I stroked him.  I move my hand up and down the length of him, echoing the movement of my mouth.  I lose myself in the motion, sucking and drawing him into my mouth and running my tongue hard down the sensitive underside.  He’s groaning, his breath hitching in his throat, his hands in my hair.

 

“Stop.  For God’s sake, stop!  I need to be inside you.”

 

He pulls me up beside him and rolls on top of me.  He knows how I yearn to feel his weight, the feeling of possession when I couldn’t get away from him if I tried.  His hand moves down between us, and gripping his erection, he rubs it over my clit, up and down, over and over, never looking away from my eyes.  I feel the head at my opening.  The smooth hardness as he slowly, so, so slowly pushes his hard length into my slick depth.  A sigh escapes his lips.  He waits.  I flex my muscles around him, knowing it drives him mad.  He doesn’t move.

 

“Do it again.”

 

His velvet voice filling my head, I squeeze his shaft with my vagina, pumping him again and again.  His mouth is on mine and I’m moaning into it.  He pulls back all the way and languidly thrusts into me.  I love this; that he’s still so in control as I feel myself falling apart with the sheer pleasure of his hips drawing away, then shoving into me.  I lift my legs, wrapping them around him, adjusting to feel as much of him as possible, opening to him. 

He whispers my name and his pace quickens.  His strokes shorten, I rise to meet him, my fingers digging into the smooth muscle of his back and there – I feel his control slipping.

My hands move down to his hips, pulling him into me, pulling him along with me.  He’s deep, grinding himself into me, his pubic bone massaging my clit.  His mouth at my neck biting and sucking and I’m lost.  I cry out, his name the only word I can form, again and again; urgent, desperate, like speaking in tongues.  His mouth moves to mine, his arms wrapped under my back, as though he can’t get close enough and now, his fierce pace never slackening, his beautiful eyes locked on mine, he whispers,

 

“Come with me.”

 

Pushing my heels into the bed, I slam my hips up to meet his, one hand on his ass the other tangled in his hair.  The sound of our sweat slick bodies slapping together, the throaty gasps as he drives himself into me, send me over the edge.  The convulsion in my groin, in my head, and Ben’s groan tears from the depths of his belly with his last thrust as he explodes deep within me. 

 

He lies on top of me, licking the salt from my neck.  He won’t move until I ask him to, knowing how I love the feel of him, spent, sated, content and still inside me.  We kiss, gentle now, soft and careful with each other.  He strokes my cheek.

 

“Alright?” he asks.

“Wonderful.”  I answer.  “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“You know,” I say, “It’s a wonder you ever learn any of your lines.  You’re always so easily distracted.”

 


End file.
